My Bullying Coach Dared Me to Hit Him
Sarcastic, angry maniac granted me an odd golden opportunity
“Sixty-four, bridge left, ninety-four, coyote red, twenty-two, hut, hut, hike.”
The worn, scruffed football is snapped between center Richard Fern’s legs to senior quarterback Jake Hamilton. The wiry, 6-foot-1, dirty-blonde, haired Hamilton scrambles right and gets ready to float a spiral downfield to Mikey Oleander, but — bam! — six-foot-four defensive end Casey Hill plows a vicious hit on Hamilton right as he releases a pass that wobbles and falls five yards short.
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It’s a chilly South Dakota October afternoon at Vermillion High School’s practice field in 1982 as Coach Steve Latimer comes bolting over from the sidelines to the backfield and gets right in Hill’s face — smacks him with a crumpled-up paper — and screams, “Casey, Casey, Casey, what the fuck! Are you trying to pop off Hamilton’s head?
Respect the fucking red jersey
“If we have any chance of making it to state we are going to need that young man at quarterback. Don’t you see the fucking red jersey? Respect the fucking red jersey. The read means don’t hit him.
“And who the hell was doing the blocking in the backfield to protect our all-state…
